Mortal?
Was the scribe of God right in his ears?
An Ophanim. No! A ‘broken’ Ophanim? Passing a sentence on to him as if he was some kind of sinner?
No!
“You’re lying!” Metatron said, gasping and coughing a few mouthfuls of dark blood, looking down on Becca. “You’re nothing but a damn angel. You can’t condemn a single thing in ‘MY’ Father’s creation!”
Metatron’s eyes burned, and his throat felt sore. However, his attitude was still as high and mighty as always.
He had to put her down somehow, no matter the price.
The scribe felt it.
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